


Judge's Daughter

by DaleCooper



Category: Green Day
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-14
Updated: 2016-12-02
Packaged: 2018-02-25 09:20:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2616575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaleCooper/pseuds/DaleCooper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>August 1989</p>
<p>It was the beginning of an era: shitty music, endless booze, fuck-ups, soon-to-be-dropouts, and a girl who would dip her hand in and change it all.</p>
<p>Enter Roselain Nightingale, daughter of the prominent town judge.<br/>Foot-in-mouth, social reject with a 1970's film camera around her neck and a chip on her shoulder.<br/>New blood in a pool of stagnant, washed-out teenagers.</p>
<p>They say once you've had a taste of new blood, there's no turning back.<br/>And Billie Joe Armstrong wanted far more than just one taste.</p>
<p>NOTE: Roselain was home schooled until this year, her senior year.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Origami

**Billie’s POV**

The brick wall was cold and gritty against my back, but it felt nice. The whole situation had me feeling a bit hot, so any kind of distraction was welcome. Strewn across the parking lot were small flocks of teenagers, wringing their hands impatiently, eyeballing the road with a certain anxiousness, and it wasn't hard to figure out what they were waiting on. Some were just curious, not really intending to do more than look on from the hoods of their cars. Then there were the malicious groups, practically crowding in her parking place like a goddamn welcoming committee.

Then there were people like me, apathetic and sympathetic.

“So, whatcha’ think of this Roselain chick?” a voice rang from somewhere behind me. I peered over my shoulder to see Tre, slumping against the wall. A dry laugh escaped my lips as I placed an unlit cigarette between them.

“I don’t know, man, haven’t met her yet,” I mumbled, cupping my hand over the cigarette and lighting it. Tre rolled his eyes, looking off at the crowd of gossiping people.

“But really though, what do you think of all this?”

“I think it’s a load of bullshit, she’s just a girl,” I say, pushing a hand back through my hair, an inevitable sigh parting my lips. With the way people were treating this, you’d think she was a fucking celebrity. Everyone gets excited when a new girl joins the school, but this, this is just pathetic. I shook my head, taking a drag off my cigarette as everything fell silent.

A small white Acura came easing into the parking lot and the crowd parted like the red sea. She pulled into her spot and cut off the engine, but a few awkward minutes passed without so much as a movement. A small crowd began forming around her car, staring in on her expectantly.

The car door swung open and she inched out, nervously slouching a green backpack over her shoulder. Her messy blonde hair curled beneath her chin, a baggy green jacket hanging from her skinny torso, nearly covering her fraying shorts. She smiled warmly, lifting a small, dainty hand to the people around her. No one made a move to return the greeting, no made a move to leave, no one even says a word. Her eyes dropped to the ground and she began tip toeing through the crowd of people, her eyes strung to her black ankle boots.

The judging had begun.

Feral packs of girls followed but keep their distance, eyeing her slender body and fashion choices in disgust. It was clear that she didn't meet the approval of the majority of the girls and she certainly wasn't what anyone was expecting. Sadly, that wasn't good news.

“She looks fucking traumatized,” Tre whispered under his breath, eyeing her as she grew closer. She nervously looked up, making awkward and clearly unintended eye contact with me in the process. I smiled sympathetically, offering a small nod, but in return she only half smiled, ducking her head back toward the ground and continuing on.

“Come on, let’s get to class,” I muttered, tugging Tre off the wall. We quickly pushed through the crowd of sneering girls, eventually falling into place only a few steps behind Roselain. Her walk was so awkward, it’s like she was folding in on herself as if she could just disappear. She kept her head down and her shoulders hunched and I began to wonder if she even knew where she was going at all. I felt a nudge at my arm as I watched her.

“She’s got a pretty nice ass,” Tre snickered under his breath. I rolled my eyes, shoving him away from me. Christ, the last thing the poor girl needs to hear is an utter pervert mumbling comments about her ass. The hall felt uncomfortably silent considering the number of people that were filing through it, the only sounds bouncing off the walls were hushed whispers and squeaking sneakers.

A shrill sound pierced the air and the girl let out a small yelp, stumbling sideways into the lockers. I stifled a laugh watching as she held a hand against her heart and whipped her head in my direction. Her eyes were wide with fear and I began to wonder if she even knew the first thing about how a public school worked.

“That’s the bell,” I laughed, walking closer to her. “It basically just means you need to get to class or teachers are going to be pissed.” Her pale blue eyes searched mine skeptically before darting in a random direction.

“Oh… I know that, I just.. wasn't expecting it,” she mumbled softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her tiny ear. She eyed her surroundings, desperately searching for some kind of acceptable escape route. I sighed, holding out a hand.

“My name’s Billie, sorry for laughing, I promise I’m not too much of an ass.” She stared at my hand like she’d never seen one before, and I didn't know whether to laugh or be worried. What did her father do, keep her locked in a basement for 18 years? She looked back up at me nervously, before spinning on her heal and trudging down the hall way.

“Looks like someone’s not interested,” Tre cackled from beside me, watching as she tripped in the direction of the office.

“I suppose you’re right,” I muttered, letting my hand drop to my side.

* * *

Typically teachers get pretty pissed if you miss the first few minutes of class, but I think today was a general exception. Besides, there’s not much you can do when all of your students come rolling in five minutes late. I took a seat in the back of the room, propping my head on my hand, watching idly as people began trickling in. Mostly familiar faces floated through the door, with the occasional stranger.

“She looks kind of trashy,” a bitchy brunette girl sneered from a couple chairs ahead. Pretty ironic coming from the mouth of someone who is the literal epitome of trash.

“She looks like a dyke, I can’t believe her father let’s her dress like that,” the blonde beside her hissed.

“Maybe because she is one.”

I rolled my eyes, tuning out the conversation, letting my gaze drift back toward the front of the room where Mrs. Reinbeck was clearing off her podium.

“Welcome to class, my name is Mrs. Reinbeck and I hope to see you all through a wonderful year of History. Today, since we are all strangers, we’re going to play an activity in order to get to know each other a little better. Nothing’s worse than a quiet, unresponsive classroom!” Mrs. Reinbeck clapped her hands together, smiling at the apathetic little bastards before her. She opened her mouth to speak again but was interrupted as the new girl came tip toeing through the doorway.

“Ah, Ms. Nightingale, welcome to class. You can take your seat anywhere, I don’t believe in seating charts,” Mrs. Reinbeck chirped, watching as the girl scanned the classroom in fear. Her eyes meet mine momentarily and she shifted in my direction, taking the chair beside me. She slunk into her seat, taking in a deep breath.

“As I was saying, what we are going to do today is a fun little activity. If you’ll get out a piece of paper, I want you to spend the next couple of minutes examining the person behind you and then write down an assumption about them. Be perceptive! Try to put yourself in their shoes and imagine what their life might possibly be like. After you finish, fold the paper and pass it to the person you wrote about. No peaking until I say so! Sound good?” The class squeezed out an unenthusiastic grunt, before pulling out sheets of paper.

I leaned back in my chair, my spine cracking what had to have been a thousand times. The guy in front of me, Matt, didn't even turn around. He already knew me from freshman year as the kid who kicked his ass for trying to pull some punk-ass-bullshit during gym. There was no need for examination or acquainting, nor would it be hard to guess what the paper might say.

The bitch-faced brunette who had earlier been shit-talking spun around in her chair, propping her elbows on the new girl’s desk, chewing the end of a pencil. Roselain awkwardly fumbled with her piece of paper, folding it in several neat little lines, clearly trying to avoid eye contact with the girl.

“Guess she didn't consider the fact the no one is sitting behind us, eh?” I snickered, attempting to ease the awkwardness of the situation for her. She kept her head down, nodding as she continued folding the paper. Culture has never really been my thing, but it wasn't hard to recognize origami. Y’know, not that half-assed shit that some 5th grader tries to give to their mom, but actual, intricate pieces of art.

“Did you teach yourself to do that?” I asked quietly, propping my chin in my hand as I watched her put the finishing touches on what appeared to be a turtle. She simply shrugged, spinning it beneath her finger. She radiated discomfort at levels higher than any nuclear fallout, but I wasn't sure if it was me or the girl in front of her. Perhaps both.

“Is that a paper football,” bitch-face asked.

“What are you, twelve? It’s fucking origami,” I mumbled, rolling my eyes.

“I’m sorry, was I talking to you? Fuck off, Bill.”

“Yeah, it’s an origami turtle, my mom used to make them a lot. Nervous habit, I guess,” Roselain murmured, pushing it to the side of her desk. Bitch-face picked it up, twirling it in her fingers.

“That’s sweet, is she dead?” I choked on spit, staring at bitch-face incredulously. Despite being a question that no one in their right mind would just fucking drop like that, it was apparent from her dry tone that she sort of hoped it was true. Roselain raised an eyebrow, locking eyes with her.

“Yes, of course. You guessed it. She’s dead. I like to fold origami in her memory in the presence of bitchy, passive-aggressive females,” Roselain chimed, an enormous fake smile playing on her lips. Bitch-face’s mouth dropped open. She cut her eyes, dropping the turtle and spinning around in her chair.

“Alright class, are you ready to begin? When I call on you, please stand and read your note aloud then tell us if the assumption was true. It’s refreshing hearing what things people have to say about you!” Mrs. Reinbeck sang as she climbed in her chair. She adjusted her glasses, scanning over the list of names. “How about we start with Miss Nightingale, you’re new so this should be a clean slate of endless possibilities!”

Mrs. Reinbeck flashed a wide grin awaiting Roselain's answer but only silence ensued. I glanced up to see her staring at her paper in shock, mouth agape.

“I’m not reading this out loud.”

“Why, what’s _wrong_ with it?”

“What’s wrong with it? Here, you read it,” she spat, shoving the paper across the desk. Mrs. Reinbeck walked over, scooping the paper in her hands, an instant look of disgust and anger sweeping over her.

“It’s okay, Roselain, everyone knows you’re a pussy eating dyke, no need to be shy,” bitch-face hissed, turning to smirk at the new girl.

“Miss Walker, pack your things and see yourself to the office this instant,” Mrs. Reinbeck growled, stabbing a finger in the direction of the door. Bitch-face merely smirked in response, slouching in her seat as her friends burst into a fit of giggles.

“Oh, please.”

“I _said **go**_ ,” she yelled, slamming her hand on the desk. Bitch-face rolled her eyes, scooping her binders off the table and striding away.

Roselain kept her eyes glued to the table, refusing to look up at all the gawking and/or snickering students. Due to pretty clear reasons, our entire “get-to-know-you” activity was put on hold and we moved straight to syllabus review. Roselain didn't look up again for the entire class period.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have the second chapter already written and plan on posting it in a day or two, I just want to proof read it a few more times. I promise, promise, promise the second chapter is much better and I urge that you stick around for it because there’s lots of interaction between Billie and Roz and that’s when character development takes off.  
> Stuff is about to start getting really fun.
> 
> First chapters are always iffy with me because I’m so excited to get to the good parts that I always struggle and have a hard time with making them as good as the rest of the story. But I promise, this is one of the few stories I’ve written that I actually have a lot of faith in.  
> If you see any grammar/tense errors, just inbox those to me please! I started writing this a couple years ago and had it in a weird tense, so it’s possible I didn’t correct everything. Also, heads up, don’t correct any dialect I may use because that’s intentional for the sole purpose of character development (i.e. gonna, kinda, etc.).
> 
> Feedback is greatly appreciated!  
> I’m just now getting back into the hang of writing so I’d love to hear what people think!  
> Thanks guys,  
> Echo


	2. Catcher in the Rye

**Roselain’s POV**

As soon as the bell rang, my mind went on autopilot, shoving my notebook inside my bag as quickly as possible. I pushed through the doorway, starting down the hall when a hand grabbed my elbow. I instinctively jerked away, wheeling to face the stranger.

“Look, I don’t know who the fu- Oh,” I gasped, greeted with the familiar crooked smile of the guy who called himself Billie.

“Oh,” the boy repeated with a laugh. “I just wanted to apologize for that back there.”

“But it didn’t have anything to do with you…?” I eyed him suspiciously.

“I know, but that was just a shitty thing to say, and if it makes you feel any better, the dick in front of me said it looks like someone took a hammer to my teeth.” He laughed, flashing another grin, only this time his slightly crooked top row of teeth became more apparent. “I tried to introduce myself before, but my name’s Billie.”

“I know, I’m sorry about earlier. As you can tell I don’t really handle social situations very well… My name’s Roselain, but you can call me Roz,” I coughed, rubbing my arm nervously.

“Roz, I like that,” he said with a smile, which I awkwardly returned.

"Thanks..." I mumbled shyly, shoving my hands in my pockets. "Fuck!" I hissed, recoiling as something sliced my fingertip open.

"You alright?"

"Yeah, yeah... I forgot I had my schedule in my pocket, fucking papercut," I murmured, pulling out the now blood streaked piece of paper. "Hey, actually, if you don't mind, can you show me to my next class? I don't want another shitty incident like this."

"Yeah, not a problem. Here, let me just see what you've got," he mumbled, leaning in close to me, squinting at the paper. Due to proximity I could smell the stench of pot and some kind of cologne, but it wasn't over powering or gross, it was actually a kind of nice balance. "Ah, shit, Mr. Felton? That guys the biggest dickhead on campus, you're gonna wanna get out of his class as soon as possible."

"Why? What'd he do?" I questioned and he began walking away, motioning for me to follow.

"Look, maybe I'm not the best student, I've got a lot of grey areas and tend to not give a fuck about most subjects, but I've got a lot of shit stored up here," he said, drumming his fingers against temple. "Well, this asshole's got the audacity to tell me that I'm not going to amount to anything because I don't want to read some shitty, overrated book about some whiny asshole that everyone wants to call poetic and misunderstood."

"Shot in the dark here, but are you talking about Catcher in the Rye?"

"Yeah! Fuck that book, man," he spat, shoving through the doors and leading us outside. My eyes were not prepared for that kind of light shock, so I kept my head ducked down and held a perpetual squint.

"You know, it's actually not half that bad. Holden's an annoying little shit, but if you think about it, he's got reason to be." He shook his head at my statement, heading in the direction of a concrete wall.

"I haven't read it. Refuse to. My friend Mike's talked me up and fucking down about how great it is, but I won't hear it, man. Especially after Felton made such a big deal about it."

"Well, I don't blame you... he sounds like a dick," I murmured, watching as Billie bounded a few steps ahead, hopping up to sit on the wall. He patted the spot beside him as he pulled out a carton of cigarettes and placed one between his chapped lips. I dropped my bag on the ground, swinging myself up on the wall beside him. He flipped the carton open toward me and I slid one out, placing it behind my ear. He cocked an eyebrow at me, holding his lighter up questionably. I shook my head.

"Nah, I cherish these. Dad hates when I smoke, so I save them for a rainy day, y'know?" He nodded, cupping his hand around his cigarette and lighting it. He took a long drag, squinting as the smoke tore through his lungs before seeping back out through the corner of his mouth.

"You know, you gotta be careful around Felton, though. See, to guys he's just a raging asshole, but to girls like you, that's a different story," he mumbled, a thoughtful crease forming between his brows as he stared off at the passing cars.

"What do you mean?"

"You're pretty, pretty girls always get harassed by him. He thinks he's fucking casanova, gonna sweep girls off their feet with his poetry and creepy ass pickup lines. But I guess he's got this intimidating sense about him, so girls never report the shit he does. So seriously, get out of that class as soon as possible," he warned, giving me a sideways glance, the cigarette lolling between his lips as he studied my face.

I stared at him blankly, attempting to register what he had just said. I mean, I've already seen what the majority of girls look like here, and if that's what Felton's after, then I'm more than safe. Then there’s also the fact that this kid thinks I’m pretty, but I guess that’s another story. He continued staring at me, eyes slowly roaming over my face. I felt a slight blush creeping over my cheeks and I turned away, rolling my eyes at how juvenile I felt.

"I think I'll be alright..." I whispered, nervously pushing a hand back through my hair. "Speaking of class though, shouldn't we be headed that way?"

"Nah, I'm doing you a favor. A little skipping never hurt anybody; besides, you're new. You have a two week window to get by with anything you want. Being the judge's daughter kinda helps that too." I whipped my head back in his direction and frowned.

"I really can't afford to skip right now, if word gets back to my dad-"

"I know, I know, you're a good kid. Don't let a loser like me be a bad influence, alright? Remember, I'm not gonna amount to anything," he said with a chuckle and a wink. He peered at me, the sunlight cutting through his already impossibly green eyes, setting them on fire. They didn't even look real, like some ethereal cosmic color, blanketed under pretty black lashes that would put any girl to shame. Smoke rings parted his full pink lips, as he took another drag from his cigarette, flicking off the ashes with a steady, veiny hand.

I'd been too nervous earlier to notice just how pretty this guy was, but after seeing him out in the sun, an auburn tent glinting through his brown hair as it curled around his face, I almost wanted to take up his offer on skipping just so I could sit an admire his features.  
Aesthetically pleasing people: a photographer's biggest weakness.

"Maybe another time, yeah? Preferably when it isn't my first ever day of school," I laughed, watching as he rolled his eyes with a grin. I hopped off the wall, adjusting my jacket as I slung my backpack over my shoulder. Glancing back up in hope for some direction only resulted in being caught in his gaze yet again. A smirk played on his lips, eyes searing holes through my mind as he looked down at me.

"Well, your class is literally right through those doors, first door on the right," he said nodding his head in the general direction. I smiled and gave a small wave, hiking toward class.

"Hey, Roz, wait," he called out from behind me. I turned around to see him flicking his cigarette to the ground as he hopped off the wall and stepped on it. He stretched, his shirt raising to reveal what looked like something written in pen on his hip. "So, my friends and I are gonna go drink at the tracks tonight, maybe jam at a friend's house afterwards. You're more than welcome to come if you'd like."

I cocked my head to the side, examining him as he cupped a hand over his eyes in hopes of not being totally blinded by the August sun. I pegged him as the kind of guy I could probably drink with and feel pretty safe. Maybe it's a bit early to make those kind of judgments, but I can usually tell if someone's a creep. He hadn't made any weird passes and had actually tried to convince me to skip class just to avoid Felton, so he couldn't be that bad. I gave a subtle nod, moving on to the next part of his statement.

"Jam? You play music?" I asked, taking a step closer to him. He made a face, scratching the back of his head and giving a bit of a shrug.

"Yeah, we uh, we got a band together a few months ago, we're not that amazing or anything, but with the right amount of booze, even the gritty shit sounds alright," he flashed a cheeky grin, burrowing his hands in his pockets.

Well, if I wasn't already intrigued by this green eyed boy, then this only gave me another reason to be. I'd always loved sneaking off to shows when I was younger and photographing the local bands; the singers screaming in people's faces, guitarists falling into the drum sets. Sweat, tension, and electricity setting the room on fire, it's all fucking magical. Of course, they always get pissy about it like elitist little shits, thinking they should be paid to have pictures taken. So I've always longed to find a band that actually didn't mind being photographed, or having some weird ass girl climbing around on stage and crawling underneath them and getting in their faces to get intense enough shots to capture the energy. He tilted his head to the side as if he were examining me, maybe half expecting me to decline?

"Yeah... yeah, sure. I'll come," I said, smiling reassuringly. The corner of his mouth twisted into a grin.

"Alright, well, just meet me here after school. We'll give you a ride."

"Sounds good," I sang with a nod as I headed back toward the building. I threw one last glance over my shoulder, watching as the green eyed boy swung himself back up on the wall.

"Better hurry, Blondie, don't be late for class," he called with a smirk, waving me away with his hand. I rolled my eyes at the nickname, pushing through the school doors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it's been so long since I last updated! I forgot that I'd even posted the story here, honestly. But I hope to get updates rolling again soon!
> 
> Feedback is greatly appreciated.
> 
> Also, if you ever want to get in touch with me and keep me on my toes about updates, you're welcome to follow me here!  
> http://agentcoop.tumblr.com/
> 
> xo,  
> Echo


	3. Backseat Stories

**Roselain's POV**

I breezed through the day, focusing on only minimally existing until I met Billie afterschool. These methods of learning really aren't my thing, nor are the groups of people. Maybe it'd be different if my first class hadn't left such a lasting impression on the rest of the student body, but of course, word spreads like wildfire and my experiences certainly hadn't been pleasant ones.

Whatever. Who cares. Fuck people.

Felton's class wasn't nearly as scary as Billie made it out to be, but then again it is the first day, maybe he needs a little time to grow on the girls before he goes into full-predatory mode. Either way, I can sense the slight creepiness in his overall vibe; fortunately, it hasn't been directed at me. Actually, he couldn't even say my name right and didn't really care too. Good, let's keep it that way.

The 7th period bell rang and I was already half way out the classroom door. I'd decided today wouldn't be the day to try and locate my locker. Lingering in the halls spells bad news that I don't wanna tango with. I'll stick to what I know and what I know is that I'm about to hang out with a green-eyed boy and a bunch of strangers at a place I've never been with music I've never heard and it sounds pretty goddamned fantastic; unnerving to the slightest degree, but still fantastic.

Billie was in my sight as soon as I pushed through the front doors of the building, shouldn't have surprised me that he'd beat me out here, being that he clearly doesn't give a shit about skipping classes.

My nerves started rattling in my stomach as I sifted through the crowd, realizing that he had two other guys around him. First impressions aren't my strong suit, I'm either awkward, uncomfortably nice, or I sound like an asshole without meaning too. Let's see how we spin this one. I immediately recognized the guy with the fluffy short brown hair as the dude who'd been sitting beside Billie this morning. The tall one with the shaggy blonde hair noticed me first, giving me a friendly nod as he patted Billie on the back to get his attention. Billie spun to face me, a cigarette lolling in the corner of his grin.

"Roz! Was worried you might not come, glad to see you decided to," he greeted, plucking the cigarette from his lips and flicking it to the ground.

"Well, you never gave me a reason not to, so I'm interested in tagging along," I mumbled with a smile. The fluffy haired brunette stepped up to me, rubbing a hand across his five-o-clock shadow.

"You're cool with being out late, right? 'Cause I'm the one driving and I'm definitely not gonna retire until the night's an old hag. Don't want your old man getting pissed off wondering where you are," the brunette said, his blue eyes wide and buggy.

"Nah, he'll live. He's not really as uptight as people think."

"Yeah, I 'spose not. You're talking to us, after all," he grinned, planting his knuckles on his hips like some kind of smug child. I smiled, rolling my eyes.

"Well, I guess I'm technically talking to you by default. You're kinda gathered around the person I'm here to meet." There I go, sounding like an accidental asshole again. Social interactions really aren't my slice of pie. "What're your names, anyway?"

"Yeah, see, Billie was supposed to do the introductions but he kind of sucks," the brunette scowled at Billie who cocked an amused eyebrow in response. "My name's Tre and this here is Mike."

"They're the drummer and bass player for my band, the one I was telling you about," Billie piped in, dissolving Tre and Mike into a fit of cheeky grins. I couldn't help but smirk at their proud glow.

"Ah, so you guys are the ones I'll be hearing tonight?"

"I mean, I guess so. If you stick around that long," Tre said with a wink.

"Well, if you're driving I kind of have to, right?" I teased, idly watching as people began pouring into the parking lot. I considered getting my camera from my car but promptly remembered that I hadn't brought it today. Dad had me so worried about showing up with a camera around my neck; he knows I don't like attention and pointed out that it'd probably attract more than I wanted. I'm deeply regretting this decision because it would definitely come in handy tonight. I glanced back at Billie, biting my lip in contemplation. "Hey, if you guys don't mind can we swing by my house? I wanna grab something before we go."

"Uh, sure, I mean, is your dad gonna care?" Billie stammered, fretfully mulling over the idea.

"I'm gonna need you guys to stop worrying about my dad, alright?" I said with a laugh. "Really, it'll be fine. Two minutes tops and we'll be out."

"Alright, my dudes," Tre chanted, pressing his hands together beneath his chin like some kind of prayer. "If we're gonna do that we should probably go ahead and leave. Gotta make a beer run on the way out."

"Yeah man let's goooo," Mike chimed, draping an arm around his shorter friend's shoulder and dragging him toward the parking lot. They stumbled ahead, kicking rocks and loudly chattering to one another as Billie hung behind, waiting for me to tag along.

"Are any of you actually old enough to buy beer?" I asked, falling into place next to Billie as we walked behind the others. I already knew the answer to that, but I guess I was more curious as to how they were planning on getting it.

"Not even close, but that's nothing a fake ID hasn't been able to handle," he chuckled with a wink. "You drink?"

"A little more than I probably should," I laughed, shoving my hands into the pockets of my jacket. He cocked an eyebrow ins amusement, playfully nudging my shoulder.

"Really? Would've coined you as a semi-good girl. Surprised your dad lets that fly."

"What he doesn't know won't hurt him. Besides, he doesn't rule my whole life, y'know," I mumbled with a shrug. Christ, what kind of pristine, mary-mother-of-god vision did people have of me? So what, my dad's a judge. It's nowhere near as bizarre as some other professions and it certainly doesn't make him any stricter than anyone else. In my honest opinion, it makes him a bit more lenient. He's seen all kinds of shit so his mind is a little more open than you'd expect, but that's also why he's so protective of me; he's ruled by a lot of fear. Fuck, I had to literally beg to go to public school this year. It's not that I wasn't content with homeschooling, but once again, I'm a photographer. It gets miserable not knowing people. I'd probably say that I regretted my decision, had it not been for meeting this trio.

We edged our way toward a banged up 1981 Nissan Maxima, and god, what a work of art it was. I guarantee there's got to be a story behind every divet and dent in that thing, not to mention the bouts of shittily covered white spray paint splashed across the sides, perhaps the remnants of a dickhead from school? The awful brown paint job was peeling, a crack stretched across the rear window. Somehow it was charming and totally expected.

"So, I'm gonna go ahead and apologize. I really wasn't expecting to have another person along for the ride, so it's pretty fuckin' messy in here. I only had a spot cleaned out for Billie," Tre muttered, unlocking his doors. 

"It's cool, man. I don't mind. My car's only clean because it has to be. Dad would have a fuckin' conniption otherwise," I said with a reassuring nod.

"Okay then, don't say I didn't warn you," he sings, opening the car door for me. As soon as he does, like some sort of comedic, dumpy avalanche, greasy fast food bags tumble out onto the pavement. Within the seat, questionable heaps of clothing piled high, a sea of trash crammed into the floorboard. Again, totally expected.

"Your throne awaits, miss," he says, bowing as he motioned toward the backseat.

"Man, fuck you, Tre. I'll sit on that side. Jesus Christ," Billie half-laugh, half-grumbled as he stepped in front of me, taking over the path to my throne of trash. "You can sit on the semi-clean side, Roz."

I stifled a laugh, circling the vehicle and climbing into the other side. It certainly was a stark contrast, a mostly clean seat with a few bud burns, cigarette ash, and a minimal amount of trash in the floorboard. It looked like something had exploded on the ceiling, maybe coke? I didn't ask questions. I giggled as Billie struggled to climb atop the mound of clothing and trash.

"You sure you don't want me to sit there? I'm a little smaller than you, won't be as much of a crunch." Billie groaned in response, grimacing as he dangled a dirty pair of socks between his fingers before dropping them in the floor.

"Of course I'm sure. There's no telling what's on these clothes."

Tre adjusted his mirror to see the two of us. "Oh yeah, Bill. Saved you a nice little treat in there," he grinned, wiggling his eyebrows. I laughed as Billie kicked the back of his seat, finally closing the door and settling in. We eased out of the parking lot and down the hectic streets of Crockett, California.

"So, like. Where exactly are we taking you...uh... Rose? Rosa? Fuck, I'm sorry, I don't know your name, I'm a dick," Tre admitted, scrunching his nose up apologetically.

"Roselain!" I said with a grin. "It's okay, my name is kind of weird. Uhh, I live on Kains Avenue, just off Harrison. You know where that is?"

"Uhhhh," Tre's eyes flickered between Billie and Mike, desperately craning for help. Mike suddenly jerked, spinning around to face me as he excitedly drummed his fists against the seat.

"Shit, dude, I know where that is!" He  chimed, wrapping his arms around the headrest, his blue eyes glowing with a fervent joy.  "She's like a road over from Gilman Street," he noted to Tre, who's face lit up like it was fucking Christmas.

"You ever been to a show there?" Mike asked, propping his cheek against the side headrest. "The venue, I mean. It's on Gilman street but it's also the name of the place."

"The one with all the couches and spray paint? The floor's always kind of sticky and you're not sure if it's beer or worse?"

"Sounds like the right place," Billie snickered from beside me.

"Yeah, man, I used to sneak out my window to go see shows there. They left a flyer on a light post by my house, otherwise I probably never would have known it existed. I mean you can hear a lot of the music from where I live, but I still didn't know where it was at first. Usually had a pretty good time. I haven't gone in about a year, though. Got barred from entering," I frowned, glancing out the window as we slipped onto I-80.

"Barred? Why? _How_?" Mike implored, a skeptical crease forming between his brows.

"Well, after going a few times, I got appointed as the photographer for a few gigs. It was cool until one of the singers tried to get handsy with me in between sets."

"And _you_ got barred for that?" Billie asked incredulously, sharing a what-the-fuck look with Mike.

"No, I got barred because I knocked out a couple of his teeth."

"Oh _shiiiit_!" Tre screeched, banging his hands against the steering wheel. "The judge's daughter has a bit of fire in her!" All three of them were cackling, Billie clapped a hand to my back in approval. My chest swelled with enjoyment at the momentary praise. God knows my dad certainly wasn't happy when I came home with busted knuckles and the threat of a lawsuit. Dad always taught me to lay low and avoid conflict at all costs. Mom taught me to take no shit. Maybe I'm more like her than I'm ready to admit.

"Y'know, we play shows there quite a bit. We can get you off that barred list sometime, yeah?" Billie grinned, seeing the spark in my eyes at his suggestion. Being a photographer obsessed with vivid, dynamic shots is a hard thing to be when you don't have many chances to capture them.

"Count me in for that. I haven't been to another show since that one. Fuck, I miss it."

"There's one catch, though: you gotta be our photographer instead," Billie added coyly, a smirk playing on his pretty lips. I raised an eyebrow, realizing that I hadn't mentioned the whole purpose of this house-visit.

"Not much of a catch considering we're literally going to my house so I can grab my camera."

"No shit?" Billie piped, seemingly taken aback, an unmistakable excitement buzzing in his eyes. There's one thing I'm looking forward to photographing... his eyes. They're so large and pretty, like peering into some kind of mossy well. It seems that in this short time of knowing him, I'd gotten caught within their cast numerous times, and each time I'd found myself attempting to read them. Feel like I could find some pretty interesting stories hidden in all those folds of color.

"Aw, man. If I knew this was gonna be a photo-op I would have sharpened up a bit," Mike joked, licking his palm before slicking it back through his hair. I grinned, drumming my nails against the back of his seat.

"You all look wonderful, no need for sharpening up. Tidy perfection's not my kinda art," I sang, clicking my tongue, glancing at Billie as he eyed me with a slight smirk.

"So, what is your kinda art, then? A bunch of roughed-up looking punks?" he asked with a grin as he scratched his knuckles beneath his chin. It seemed like a rhetorical question, but it still made me feel a bit vulnerable. Did I look like some loser pining after a bunch of band dudes? I mean, that was what I had primarily been photographing, right? My thought process was interrupted by Tre's uneasy speculating.

"Okay, so you told me the road, but not the house number. And as good as I am at making guesses... which fuckin' one is it," Tre mumbled, only then did I notice we were easing through my neighborhood at a creepy, better-take-your-kids-inside speed. I leaned between the front seats, pointing toward my house.

"Three houses down on your right. Just park on the side of the road, I'll run in and grab the camera." Tre eased in front of the house, timidly turning toward Mike and Billie as they mirrored his look of concern.

"What if your dad comes outside and-"

"Stop worrying about my dad!" I cried as leapt from the car, slamming the door behind me.

My dad wasn't even home yet, he usually isn't here until around five or six and that involves him slinking into his recliner and napping until I fix him dinner. Tonight he'd have to pop-in a microwave meal,  because I highly doubt he'll be awake when I get back.

I fumbled with my keys, throwing a glance over my shoulder as I pushed through the door. The guys appeared to be sinking in their seats, trying to make themselves as small as possible as they apprehensively eyeballed my house. I rolled my eyes, grinning to myself as I quickly jogged down the hall and up the stairs to my room.

As messy as my room could get, it was never hard to find my film camera. Sitting on my nightstand, shrouded in negatives and doting a woven strap from the 1970's, my AE-1 Program sat faithfully: the most important thing I owned. My mother gave it to me when I was 13, hoping I'd find the same fascination in capturing the world as she did. Bitterness didn't consume me as it normally does when it comes to her; I took her hobby and made it my life.

I quickly snatched up a few rolls of black and white film, slinging my camera around my neck and turning to leave. Wait. Bourbon. I'll bring my bourbon. I yanked a shoebox out from under my bed, grabbing my bottle of Maker's Mark and cigarettes before bounding back down the stairs and into my dad's office.   
  
I rustled through the papers on his desk, grabbing a pen and legal pad, quickly jotting down a note:  
           _Went out with some new friends from school. Probably won't be home until late! There are still some left overs in the fridge. Don't wait up.  
           Love you, Roselain.  
  
_My dad wasn't really used to me ever going anywhere, so I guess it's only fair to let him know where I'll be so he doesn't worry himself into a panic. He never cares so long as he knows. I feel like he'll probably actually be thrilled that I'm making friends. __  
  
I placed the note on the fridge and headed out the door, slipping my bourbon in my shoulder-bag as I made my way back toward the car; the door ajar, awaiting my return.

"Hurry up, Blondie. You said it'd only take two minutes, but it's definitely been about three," Billie sang, smirking like a little pisser as I slid across the seat and shut the door. I eyed him for a moment, flashbacks of my rock-throwing, shit-head, childhood neighbor playing in my mind. He was this annoying little asshole who kid always called me blondie or cupcake, so those definitely weren't nicknames I was fond of anymore. I reached out, grabbing Billie's jaw, smushing his cheeks together between my fingers.

"Blondie isn't a name you wanna call me, got it?" I murmured, a challenging smirk playing on my lips as I gently gripped his jaw. His eyes grew wide, completely thrown off by my advance.

Keep 'em on their toes.

"Yeah, Bill, don't get your teeth knocked out," Tre chuckled, pulling back onto the road. I released Billie's face, sinking back into my seat and removing the camera from around my neck. Billie, who'd seemed so smooth and confident this entire time, now eyed me nervously as he attempted to piece his thoughts back together. The vulnerability was kinda cute.

"So, you. Uh. What do you normally take photos of? Y'know, now that you don't go to shows," he stammered, watching as I popped open a film canister.

"I photograph everything: nature, animals, abstract shit. You can usually find me at parks or around town pulling stalker-level shit. I like getting photos of people I don't know when they don't think anybody can see them," I explained, flipping the back of my camera open and loading the film onto the spool.

"Why?" Billie pressed. I flipped the back of the camera closed, looking up to meet his gaze.

"Why what?"

"Why people you don't know? And why when they don't know you're looking? Aren't you worried they'll see you and get pissed?" The questions came tumbling off his tongue fervently, almost with a hungry interest. I'm not sure what was fueling it, but it felt nice. No one really knows or cares about what I do. I advanced the film, quickly opening the aperture and setting the shutter-speed.

"Ah, those are questions for another time. Ask me again later," I teased, swiftly lifting my camera and snapping a photo of the flabbergasted green-eyed boy.

"Fuck, I think I moved. I bet it's going to come out blurry. I probably look fucking stupid," he muttered under his breath, shoving an uneasy hand back through his dark hair. It bothered me how self-conscious and flustered he suddenly looked. He had a cocky edge to him when it came to smirking or giving me a stare-down, but maybe he wasn't actually as keen on his own looks as he might've seemed? He certainly didn't look like he felt so good about himself at the moment.

"My photos are always in focus. I adjust for people's nerves. Don't worry, you'll look like art," I smiled reassuringly, advancing the film again before placing the camera back in my lap. Another thing I adore about being a photographer is helping others see themselves as the rest of the world does: glowing and radiant and full of life. He's a pretty guy, if he doesn't see it yet, he soon enough will. Tre cut his eyes toward Mike then flashed a grin in the rear-view mirror.

"Damn, Bill, she's putting smoother moves on you than any you've tried on her," he cackled, instantly met with Billie's scowl and tinged pink cheeks.

"Shut up, Tre, jesus christ. You're all awful," he spat, looking out the window, attempting to hide his blush, "I regret this decision."

"Do you?" I pried, resting my chin on my hand, gazing at him cooly.

He whipped his head back toward me, sternly studying my expression for a moment. It was clear he wanted to give some element of suspense, to keep me reeling somehow, but his disguise quickly faltered. Wouldn't have worked anyway. Being a fly on the wall really gives you the ability to read people better than most.

"No. I don't," he said, the corner of his mouth turning up into a smirk.

"Good. Me either," I whispered with a smile, tracing mary-go-rounds in his pupils. His eyes burned on mine, creasing lightly around the edges like he was refocusing... trying to see further into my head? God, why does getting caught in his gaze make me feel so exposed? Human interaction is weird. Guess I'm not used to soul-peering... though I think I could get used to it. Is that weird? I barely know him. What are social boundaries? I don't even know. Fucking aesthetically pleasing green-eyed boy. Let's blame it on my inner-photographer. Mike cleared his throat. We both snapped out of it, turning our attention back to the two nerds up front.

"... Anyway, what do you guys want from the beer store? We've got $35 to work with for the four of us."

"You know I'm cool with anything, man. Mix it up. Liquor and beer. The more it spreads the longer it'll last," Billie chimes in, stretching out his legs and crossing his ankles over the front arm-rest.

"What about you, Roselain?" Mike asks, turning back to face me again. I slipped my bourbon out of my shoulder bag, wiggling it playfully in front of his face.

"I'm covered and I'll share. Spoil yourselves," I said with a smirk, watching as Mike nodded in approval.

"Alright, then. Got any more tricks up your sleeve?"

"You guys really gotta stop giving my up-bringing so much credit. It's more shocking to be a sober teenager in this fuckin' town," I laughed half-heartedly, stumped yet again by their sheltered idea of me. Kinda sucks living in the shadow of your father. Wonder what it's like living life without a built-in good-girl tag. Whatever that even is. The things they find so shocking wouldn't be shit if I were anyone else. What's so impressive about being normal? Mike nodded thoughtfully before he and Tre climbed out of the car and set off in different directions. I turned toward Billie in confusion but he seemed to read my mind.

"There's a liquor store on either side of the block, if you're gonna have a fake ID, it's better not to present two in the same place at the same time," he explained, makes a bit of sense actually. Smart kids.

"So, how do you go about getting your alcohol? You gotta know the right people to get convincing fake ID's, so what's your method?" Billie asked, angling so that the back of his head was resting against the window. I shook my head, a huge grin playing on my cheeks.

"Oh god, that's a long fucking story. You sure you wanna hear it?"

"Actually, I think I wanna hear it even _more_  now that you've said that. Wrangle me in," he whispered comically, flaring his eyes and wiggling his brows.

"Alright, well, when I was 14 I started spending the early morning hours sitting on the roof, writing and waiting for the sun to come up. Our mail route ran at like 6 a.m. Our mailman was this really nice elderly black man named Tye, he got used to seeing me on the roof every morning. Used to try and see if he could chunk the papers up to me. Got pretty good at it," I breathed with a laugh, remembering all the failed attempts where Tye would send the papers flying across the yard like fucking confetti.

"Anyway, we ended up bonding on those morning runs. He'd leave early sometimes just to hang out in my yard, talking to me. Swear he could tell stories like nobody else, inspired a lot of my writing actually. It was like therapy sessions every morning, for the both of us, I think. One day, being the ballsy kid that I was, I asked if he'd be cool with getting me some beer from time to time. I mean, who else was I gonna ask, y'know? Man, he chewed my ass out about how alcohol isn't good for the mind or the body, how I'm way too young and how my brain's still developing. He was worried I was gonna go off the rails and lose my shit, become some kind of after-school special. It was kinda cute, really, like the worried grandfather I never had. Said I had too much talent to throw away. I ended up convincing him, aiming to prove that I could drink and still be creative. So anytime he brings me alcohol, I'll have a short story or poem typed up as well as five of my favorite photo-prints. It was a deal to prove I wouldn't throw away my passions because of booze," I paused, looking up to see Billie's wide eyes and creased brow.   
Okay, so I guess this sounds abnormal as fuck.

"I've actually never told anyone about this before so I never realized how bizarre it sounds. But it's really not, Tye is a great man. Tells everybody I'm his adopted granddaughter. Even Dad loves him. He literally comes to every Christmas dinner. I mean, of course, Dad doesn't know about the alcohol, but still," I laughed. Billie sat with an arm folded across his stomach, his chin propped in his other hand.

"That's... probably the weirdest 'hey mister' story I've ever heard, definitely not what I expected, but I like it. I like it a lot," he laughed, stretching to rest with his arms behind his head.

"What'd you expect?"

"I'm not sure, actually, but that story sounds right in line with how somebody like you would go about obtaining alcohol."

"What do you mean?" I eyed him suspiciously, is this going to be one of those weird underhanded insults or a compliment? I can't tell.

"I don't know, you just had all these lines drawn in the sand around you, boundaries and obstacles that most kids don't have. You were bound to find some wild, magical way to get what you wanted," he murmured with a wave of his fingertips, a huge grin playing on this cheeks. Magical? I wasn't a forest nymph, I was the child of a paranoid judge. Not that grandiose.

"You should definitely immortalize him, though," he added.

"How so?"

"Keep writing about him and put it out into the world some day. He sounds like a cool dude, he probably deserves as much," he smiled gingerly, crossing his arms across his chest. It made me happy, realizing that someone other than me was finally getting a small glimpse into the world Tye and I created. It made me even happier to know that someone who doesn't know him could sense what a good man he is.

"Definitely, I intend to one day," I nodded, cracking open my bourbon. I'd been working on this bottle for a couple of months now. It was a celebration gift from Tye when my father actually agreed to let me attend public school. Wait 'til he hears about how _that's_ going. Regardless, cheers to Tye.

"Is he still your provider?"

Bourbon spewed from my mouth as I burst into a fit of coughs and laughter.

"Jesus, Billie, you make him sound like a fucking drug dealer," I giggled, wiping the wasted bourbon from my face. "Is he still my adopted-grandpa who occasionally brings me alcohol, you mean? Well, he is, but he's not a mailman anymore. He's actually in a wheelchair now. I mean, he's gotta be in his 80's at least. He still tries his best to visit me, though, takes a bus when he can. Sometimes he brings alcohol, sometimes he doesn't, but I always have a story and photographs for him regardless."

Billie grinned, eyes sweeping the back of the passenger seat where I'd accidentally spat my mouthful of bourbon, but he spared me the humiliation of directly pointing it out. "Maybe I can meet him one day."

I cocked an eyebrow at the thought, taking a moment to overlook Billie, his faded, white Husker Du shirt, black skinny jeans clinging to his legs, busted up converse tied to his feet. I'm pretty fucking sure Tye would eyeball the fuck out of Billie if he ever met him. But then again, he'd probably do it to just about anybody who came into my life. Billie would have to really prove himself before that could ever happen. He's the father-figure you've got to make sure you don't disappoint.

"Maybe. I highly doubt that'll happen for a really long time, though," I mused, sweeping the bangs away from my face as I went for another swig on my drink. Billie peered at me in confusion. "He's just really protective of me. I've never really had friends around before, pretty sure he'd learn to walk again just to give an ass-kicking as a warning," I giggled, watching as Billie's face went from one of concern to ardent joy.

"It'd be an honor to take that ass-kicking," he chimed, the grin spreading across his face among the most genuine and pretty I'd seen from him so far. Is this what normal people are talking about their first day of knowing one another? Probably not, but most normal people don't bond with their mailman over writing, photography, and alcohol either. At least Billie seems amused.

He sat with his head leaned against the window, dark brown hair slightly curling around his cheekbones. It was clear that it'd been recently cut, a not too-short, not too-long length, but it left me wondering if he'd sported a mop of curly locks previously. Regardless, the current look complimented him well, drawing attention to the sharp angle of his jaw as it sloped toward his soft, pink lips.

It was occurring to me that I hadn't taken the time to really, truly look at Billie this afternoon. I mean, yeah I'd seen him, got caught in his stare, briefly glanced over his whole, but I hadn't really _looked_ at him. Attention from new people makes me too nervous to focus; it's like trying to view the world through foggy drunk-goggles. Being around the other two dulled my senses a bit, but those senses were definitely coming back to me now.

Yeah, I know, I know. Billie is a new person too, but he's a slightly less new person than the other two, so naturally they call for more disorientation on my part. I like them as a group, I really do, but looking at Billie now, legs stretched across the arm rest in front of me, eyes lazily floating around my face as thought bubbles keep bursting in his mind, well that was something I kinda wanted to get used to. Tye might find issues in Billie's rugged appearance, but I certainly didn't.

"So, you're a writer," Billie asked, tugging me slightly out of my dream-like hyper-focus. His eyes felt smoothly intense again, like they had earlier, only this time I was far more aware and unsure I could handle it. "Also, you've still got to answer my questions about your photography," he murmured. My gaze drifted down toward the bourbon clutched within my hands.

"Like I said, ask me later," I reiterated, gently tracing my fingertips along the mouth of the bottle. A small sound of protest slipped from his lips, bringing my attention back to his face. For a moment, disappointment seemed to paint his eyes, it kind of made me feel like a jerk, but I knew he was just misreading me.

"Why?" he asked dejectedly.

"It just feels like this entire afternoon has been you guys pummeling me with questions about my life. I live in my head all the time; it'd be more fun to hear about something else for a change," I murmured, nudging my bourbon in his direction.

"Something else? Like what?" He asked, gently slipping the bottle from my cold hands and bringing it to his lips.

"Like you."

He froze, slowly lowering the bottle as we locked eyes again. Shit, was that too forward? I hadn't meant it in a weird way, but honestly, yes, I did fucking want to know more about this green-eyed boy. My life was so boring, these three were the kind of change I needed and I was so mentally ravenous at the idea of knowing them. Something in his eyes changed, a tinge of credence swelling through them. Billie opened his mouth to speak, but-

"Okay, lovebirds, you ready to get this show on the road?!" Mike boomed, slamming his face through the rolled-down passenger window, scaring the hell out of both of us. Billie nearly fucking threw the bourbon in the air, spilling a bit on Tre's clothing. Count on us to waste the alcohol and make a mess. Count on them to continually butt-into the wrong moments.

"Jesus Christ, guys, glad I bought enough to make up for the amount you guys spill," Mike snickered; climbing through the window with his loot as Tre came running.

"Bill, open up!" he shouted, leaving Billie with barely any time to roll down the window before he slung bags of beer and liquor into his lap. "I pocketed a couple of high end shots without anybody noticing, let's get the fuck out of here!"

"Tre, you greedy fuck!" Billie howled with laughter as Tre spun us back into the street like goddamned speed racer.

Tonight was sure to be one hell of a night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know this is... a very long chapter in comparison to the others. Hopefully it's not too long or overwhelming. Most chapters will be around this length now.  
> Chapter 4 is going to be one of the most exciting ones, so please stick around. Expect regular updates from here on out, about once a week, sometimes more frequently depending on my moods!
> 
> If there are any weird typos or tense problems, let me know. I kinda suck with tense for whatever reason. Don't correct dialect, though (gotta, kinda, etc.) I've got those in place for character purposes.
> 
>  
> 
> Anyway!  
> Comments, subscriptions, and kudos are very appreciated!  
> Let me know what you think!
> 
> xo,  
> Echo


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